Packing... Oooh look shiny!!!

       I'm in the process of packing up all of my lifelong possessions and moving to Hawai'i. Kinda. I should be. I lost my mojo. When several rounds of "Runaround Sue" and "La Bamba" don't get my ass in gear I know its time for a break. And I have awful ADD. Honestly, how many people can actually look at their shit and go "ok, that's going in the suitcase, that's getting stored, that's goin in the dumpster and that's getting mailed."? Ok, probably a lot, but I'm not one of them. I seem to think I am going to absolutely *need* my great great grandmother's rolling pin. And her cookbook. And Grandpop's airplane tie pin. Because I'm ridiculous and sentimental. And extraordinarily scatter brained. So I decided it was time for a bloggedy blog. Yay!!!
     I own enough makeup to warrant its own suitcase. Ridiculous right? Yeah I thought so too. But its expensive, and its been accumulated over a period of time. So it gets its own suitcase. Oh fucking well. my clothes have taken up another 3. I have one empty suitcase and I'm debating leaving it. But I could put stuff I don't need in there. Like my coffee mug collection and my limited edition Batmobile model. Or the kitchen sink. See the problem here? I'm on a steady diet of Clonopin and muscle relaxers just to function. Every piece of my body is pissed at me. "Hi!!! Remember me? No? Now ya do!!!!!" Bastards. I probably have about less than half of my apartment packed. Because my body is angry. And my brain doesn't like focusing and coordinating. The sad thing? If I was packing someone else's stuff it would be done yesterday. Soy Capitan. I also have til the 16th to be out of my apartment, but I don't want to push it because I'm leaving on the 21st. So I'm moving out Monday/Tuesday (12th/13th).
      It doesn't help that Samuel L Jackson is constantly under my feet and getting into everything. I love him to pieces but he's spent a decent amount of time in his kennel today. Laying on my clothes while I'm trying to fold and pack them, eating bows off Christmas presents that took me 3 hours to wrap (several breaks were taken), trying to eat my fingers because he's a little you-know-what. And a Mogwai. So he got a few time outs. Which was very distracting. And counter-productive. I want a fairy godmother to swoop in with her magic wand and fix everything. *Bippity, Boppity, Boo*. Magic. Done. And she could transform Sam into something less obtrusive and obnoxious in order to save time and distraction. Meanwhile, I'm sipping coffee reading a book with my poor, aching feet up. My back and my neck are no longer protesting, they've gone on motherfucking strike. Every time I move something snapcracklepop zings. And I can't get in to see a dr til January. Guess where I'll be in January? Yeah, not here. Which brings me to:
    I love you, San Diego. You are beautiful and magical and will always hold a big place in my heart. I love your architecture, your unique mix of modern, retro and historic. I love your museums, your coast, downtown, your breathtaking hillsides and barren deserts. I love everything about you. Except maybe your over population issue. Its getting a little hard to breathe here. And as much as I love everything that you are, I need to move on. I know you understand. And I'll always come back to visit. Promise. Escondido, as dirty as you are I love you. Your downtown is amazing. I've lived with you my whole life. As much as everyone else hates you, I love you that much more. You are unique and wonderful.
       Is this long enough yet? Do I have to get back to packing? I really don't want to. My body is enjoying the rest. So is my brain. I think I'm pretty close to losing it. I'm tired and cranky and overworked. And just about everything hurts. And I'm hungry. Too bad I didn't buy any groceries. Dammit. Time to introduce Samuel L Jackson to Mr Oven...